Newspaper Page Text
Xoftl) Qeof,
PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY
-AT—
BELLTON, GA.
By JOHN T. WILSON, Jr.
Tb*M4— tl.oe per an.am 50 oenu for (ii
26 eeata forthree mouth*.
rartie* away (rem Be 11 to a ate requested
te *ead their names with *>«h amounts ol
aeney a. they can pare, frwm ice. *o $1
TO AN OLD COAT.
Poor coat, well loved for many reasons,
Since both of ns grow old, l>etrue;
This hand has brushed you for ten •Karons,
E’en Socrates no more could do.
Whilst Time your thin and white-seamed stufi
Keeps on attacking without end,
Wisely, like me, his blows rebuff:
And never lot us part, old friend.
That birthday flown, when first I wore you,
1 mind well—memory yet is strong—
My friends aroumY to honor bore von,
And poured their welcome forth in snng.
Your shabby plight—of which I’m vain—
Hinders them not an arm to lend.
They’d freely feast us now again;
So never let us part, old friend.
You’re patched behind, an ancient rending;
That, too, recalls a past delight;
One night to run from Jane pretending,
1 felt her soft hand clutch me tight.
Toni were you, and that frightful tear
It took my Jane two days to mend,
While 1 was held her captive there;
So never let us part, old friend.
Have you been steeped in musk and amber,
Which fops sniff, looking in t lie glass?
Or pushed al> ng an ante-chamlier,
For swells to sneer at as we pass?
Throughout al. France by faction rent,
Riblio'is and star:- fell strife can send—
A field-flower is your ornament;
So never let us part, old friend.
Fear no more dnys of idle ranging,
When our two fates become »s «»m\
Os pleasure with plain interchanging,
Os intermingled tain and sun.
For the last lime 1 soon shall dot!
My clothes, just wait! and we will we
Together, gently going i ff;
So never let us part, ohl frier <l.
From Berangei.
THE YANKEE SCHOOLMASTER.
On “Miller's Hill” si farm-house; a
lowland structure built of wood; whoso
clapboards, weather-worn and gray, were
•falling into slow decay; whose mossy
wooden lane troughs swung from rusty
Irons rudely hung; whose curling shin
gles here and there betrayed the need of
good repair; whose ancient chimney,
capped with stone, with lichens partly
overgrown above the sagging roof, looked
down upon the spires of Brandon town.
Au old gray barn was built near by,
with heavy girths and scaffolds high,
and Solid sills and massive beams, and
through the cracks and open seams the
slanting sunshine used to play in golden
gleams upon the hay, where oft, with
many a shout, the children jumped ami
played about at hide and seek, or looked
with care for hidden nests in corers
there. Where oft at morn they used <>
hear the cackling hen and chanticleer,
where, by the broad floor ’neath the
mows, were cribs and stanchions for the
cows, and strong plank stalls where
horses stood to eat their hay from racks
of wood, and, in a corner stowed away, a
farming-mill and old red sleigh. Where
jolly farm-boys husked at night the gold
en corn by candle-light, and hung their
lanterns by the bay on pitchforks thrust
into the hay, where, sheltered from the
autumn rain, with thundering flails they
threshed the grain.
Kacii year the hum ot noney-bees was
heard amid the apple tree, the lilacs
I doomed, the locusts fair with their sweet
fragrance tilled the air; the stubble, fields
were plowed and sown; the warm rain
fell; the bright sun shone; the robins
sang; the green grass grew; the roses
blossomed in the dew; the tall red holly
hock once mere bloomed brightly by
the farm-house door; the sun-flower bent
its gaudy head; the cattle in the pasture
fed, the crickets tfhirped in meadows
near, sounds were wafted to the ear o’er
waving fields of tasseled corn, of clatter
ing scythe and dinner horn. The reapers
reaped their golden sheaves; the swallows
left the stuccoed eaves; the apples in the
autumn breeze grew ripe and mellow
on the trees; tholeaves were swept about
the air; the fields were brown, the wood
lands bare; the snow-flakes fell; the air
grew chill; the sleigh-bells rangon “Mil
ler’s Hill.”
The winter sky was overcast, the snow
and sleet were falling fast. 'Twas
Christmas eve; the air was cool; the
children hun-ied home from school, with
laughter lond and outcries shrill they
reached the farm-house on the hill, they
came across the kitchen floor, nor stopped
to shut the entry door, all striving first
the news to tell, exclaimed, in concert,
with a yell: “ The teacher’s cornin’ here
to stay; he’s up the road a little way; he
stopped to talk with Susan Stow, an’ we
ran home to let you know.”
The mother stopped her spinning
wheel, and put away her creaking reel,
swept up the dusty hearth with care,
rolled down her sleeves and brushed her
hair, smoothed out her rumpled gingham
gown, and in her rocking-chair sat down;
then, striving hard to look her best, she
calmly waited for her guest.
Her ruddy, round, and fleshy face was
bordered by a cap of lace; her nose was
nearly hid from view by her plump
cheeks of healthy hue; her eyes were
bright, her hair was thin, she had a
heavy double chin; her husband's arms,
when both embraced, could barely cir
cumscribe her waist.
Os all large women nine in ten will
most admire the little men, and little
men—why none may tell—will love large
women quite as well. They woo, they
wed, the man through life is quite o’er
sh ado wed by the wife.
Soon, parting from his rustic flame,
the tardy young schoolmaster came. His
eyes were blue, his features fair, his chin
o’ergrown with downy hair; behind his
ears his locks of brown were smoothly
brushed and plastered down; his bony
limbs we.re large and long; his well
trained muscles firm and strong; the tall,
stout boys that years before had thrown
their master through the door his rod
regarded with dismay, and seldom dared
to disobey. The pride and hope of Hub
bardton was tall Lycurgus Littlejohn,
who had, his fellow-townsmen said: “A
heap o' lamin’ in his head.” (Three
terms in Midblebury College had given
him his “heap” of knowledge.)
He often used to sit between the fair
young girls of sweet sixteen and kindly
The North Georgian.
VOL. IV.
help them “do their sums.” They
brought him fruit and sugar plums; they
had their girlhood hopes ami fears; his
words were music in their ears; each
smile he gave them had a charm; each
frown would fill them with alarm.
M hat envious looks at Susan Stow, his
favorite scholar they would throw.
Her eyes and hair were dark as night,
her skin was soft, and smooth, and
white; a peach-like bloom her cheeks
overspread; her lips like cherries, ripe
and re I. Wind wonder he could not
conceal the glad, sweet thrill he use to
feel through all his palpitating frame
when to his desk she coyly came and,
looking up with eyes of love, like some
sly, timid little dove, would softly ask
him to expound some knotty problem
she had found? What being in the world
below seemed bait as sweet ns Susan
Stow? Her eyes would flash and, in re
turn, his face would flush and strangely
burn, and, when ho tried to calculate
some long, hard “sum” upon her slate,
the figures danced before his sight like
lit tle gobbling, gay and white, and, when
at night, with cheerful face, he started
for his boarding place, what wonder that
he came so slow in walking homo with
Snsnn Stow?
The woman crossed the kitchen floor
to meet Lycurgus at the door, and, with
a scrutinizing star.e she said: “Walk in
an’ take a chair, an’ be to home while
yon are here. Come, Busby, take his
things, my dear. ”
Forth from his corner, by the fire, the
husband came at her desire. II is head
was bald, save hero and there, stray lit
tle tufts of grizzled hair; bis shoulders
stooped, his form was linn, his knees
were bent, his toes turned in; he wore a
long blue flannel frock, gray trousers,
and a satin stock; a cotton collar, tall
and queer, was rudely rumpled around
each ear; his face was mild, his smile was
bland, as forth he put his ponderous
hand, and said: “I think 1 see vou well.
1 hope you’ll stay p, lectio spell; we’re
plain folks here I’d have you know, and
don't go in for pride nor show.” Thon,
after stepping on the cat, ho took the
teacher’s coat and bat; lie hung them on
a rusty nail, and, picking np his milkinsz
pail, he slowly shuffled out of doors and
went to do the evening chores.
Close by the firelight's cheerful glare
Lycurgus drew the easy chair. The
savory steam of chickens slain came
from the black pot on the crane. The
kettle's merry song he heard; upon the
hearth the gray cat purred; while, by
the chimney-corner snug, the house dos
dozed upon the rug. Among the chiin
iiey-pi< eo of wood an idle row of flat
irons stood, two candlesticks in bright
array, a pair of snuffers and a tray. The
time-worn clock ticked slowly on: it.
struck iiie hours forever gone. “Forever
gone,” it seems to say “Forever gone,”
from day to day, in its tall case oi
sombre hue twas fifty years since it
was new. Between the windows, small
and high, the looking-glass was hung,
nearby; a brazen bird with wings out
spread, perched on the scroll-work over
head; beneath, ashelf, the common home
of family Bible, brush, and comb; above,
from iron hooks were hung long frames,
with apples thickly strung, ami, fixed
upon the wall to dry, were wreaths of
pumpkin kept for pie.
Forth from the buttry, to the fire,
came Aunt RebeccaMclntvre. a swallow
spinster, somewhat old, whose mellow
age was seldom told; her hair was gray,
her nose was thin, it nearly touched her
toothless chin. Life’s weary work and
constant caro bad worn a face that once
was fair.
Each Sabbath morn, from spring to
spring, within the choir she used to sing,
in ancient bonnet, cloak, and gown, the
oldest relics in the town; beside the
chorister she stood, and always did the
best she could, and, while with tuning
fork, ho led, she marked his movements
with her head, her nasal voice rose sharp
and queer above the deep-toned viol
near.
She took the black pot from the crane,
removed the kettle from the chain, and
made the tea and chicken-broth, drew
out the table, spread the cloth; then,
from the table, bright and new, brought
the best china edged with blue.
The chores were done, the feast was
spread; all took their seats and grace
was said. They ate the savory chicken
stew, so juicy and so well cooked
through; before them, rich round dump
lings swam, on steaming plates,
with cold boiled ham, with feathery
biscuit, warm and light, with currant
jam and honey, white and crowning all
a good supply of yellow, mostly pump
kin-pie. Where such a bounteous feast
is found, who would not teach and
“board around?”
The supper done, the father took from
oft’its shelf, the sacred Book, and read of
one who stilled the sea one stormy night
in Galilee; then, kneeling down before
his chair, ho asked the heavenly Shep
herd’s care.
Soon from the group, with drowsy
heads, the children started for their
beds; took ofl’ the little shot s they wore,
and left them on the kitchen floor; then,
bidding all a fond “good night,” with
pattering feet, they passed from sight.
Dear little feet, how soon they stray
from the old farm-house far away; how
soon they leave the family fold to walk
the shining streets ot gold, where every
hope is real and’sure; where every heart
is kind and pure; where every dream is
bright and fair, —O! may we meet our
loved ones there!
The farmer left his cozy seat, with
clattering slippers on his feet, went to
the cellar where he drew a mug of cider,
sweet and new, and from his broad bins
brought the best and ripest apples for
j his guest. Then, by the warm fire’s rud
dy light, they lingered until late at
night, strange legends told, and tales
that made them all feel nervous and
afraid.
BELLTON, BANKS COUNTY, GA., APRIL 28, 1881.
But “Aunt Rebecca ” watched in vain
the curling smoke above the crane ; she
maided, dozed, began to snore, she
dropped her knitting on the floor, awoke,
her eyelids heavier grew, arose and si
lently withdrew.
Along the creaking stairs she crept, to
the lone chamber where she slept, and
close the window-curtains drew, to screen
herself from outward view. She stopjied
the key-holo of the door, she set the
candle on the floor, looked ’noath the
valance—half afraid to find a man in
ambuscade; then sitting down, asido
with care she laid her garments on a
chair, slipped on her ghostly robe of
white, took off her shoes, blew out the
light, then, in the darkness, from her
head removed her wig and went to bed,
curled up, with chilly sobs and sighs, and
quivering shut her drowsy eyes.
Poor single souls who sleep alone, Hie
night wind hath a dismal tone to
your lone ears—you start with fear at
every midnight sound you hear, when
late at night with weary heads you creep
into your weary beds. Tho nights seem
long, your lips turn blue, your feet grow
cold—you know they do 1
She slept at last; she heard ones more
the ripple break upon tho shore ; again
she sat upon the strand, and some one
clasped her fair young hand, and words
were whispered in her car that long ago
she loved to hear, and, starting up, she
cried in gleo : “I knew you would come
back to me.” She woke. Alas! no
love was there. Her thin arms clasped
the vacant air. ’Twas but a dream. She
lived alone. Without she heard the night
wind moan, while on the window-panes
the snow was wildly beating. From be
low the smothered sound of voices came
when still with Busby’s social dame.
Their guest sat by the fading fire and
watched its fleeting flame expire while
she listened, but no word they uttered
could be clearly heard ; but soon a recol
lection came that sent a shudder through
her frame—the sausage to be fried at
morn, the breaksast table to adorn, was
in the bedroom where their guest would
soon betake himself to rest. The clock
struck ten, she softly said, “ I'll get it
ere he goes to bed.”
The spare bed stood within a room ns
■hill and humid ns a tomb ; ’twas never
tired, twas seldom swept ; in its damp
.■orners spiders crept ; they built their
bridges through tho air, and no rude
broom disturbed them there. The rain,
flint fell on roof decayed, dripped through
the chinks that time had made, and on
the whitewashed walls ran down in won
irons frescoes tinged with brown ; the
window-panes, with frost o’erspread,
warmer High Hint >’ y bed. ('old
was the matting on the floor; cold blew
the breeze beneath the door; cold were
the straight-backed chairs of wood ; cold
was the oaken stand that stood on spind
ling legs that looked as chill as lone, bare
pines oil some bleak hill ; high rose that
bed o'er things below, like some fall ice
berg capped with snow. Here every
highly honored guest, when bedtime
Bane, retired to “rest.’’
Within its largo and moldy press hung
Mrs. Busbv's best silk dress: her Sunday
bonnet, shoes, mid shawl, on rusty nails
against the wall, by Mr. Busby's suit of
blue, that at his wedding had been now.
Here on a peg his best cl'aval reposed
within his old fur hat; here, shut from
sight of human eyes, were rows of mince
and apple pies, with rolls of sausage and
head-cheese, stored on the shelves and
left to freeze.
From out hereof, the maiden crept,
slipped on her shoes mid softly stepped
along the hall midthroiigh Hie gloom un
til she reached the chilly room. Unseen
she crossed the icy floor, unheard un
locked the closet door, snatched from
the shelf, in >i firm hold, a bag of saus
age, stiff ana cold, then turning quickly,
sought to beat a sudden, safe, and sure
retreat. Too late! A light gleamed on
the wall, and sound of footsteps filled
tile, hull, then to the room came boldly
on the stalwart form of Littlejohn! She
backward stepped mid stood aghast,
then closed the door and held it fust.
With chattering teeth and trembling
frame across the floor Lycurgus came.
He placed the candle in his hand upon
the spindling oaken stand. Then closed
the door, and, with a frown, within a
cold chair settled down. He threw his
boots upon the floor, and, rising, tried
the closet door; but Aunt Rebecca, in
affright, dung to tho latch with all her
might. To look within Lycurgus failed,
he turned away and thought it nailed!
Then, pulling down the snowy spread,
he put his warm brick in tho bed, took
off his clothes, and slipped between the
sheets of ice, so white and clean, blew
out the light, and, with a sneeze, close
to his chin he brought his knees, be
neath the clothes he drew his nose, and
tried in vain to find repose; while “Annt
Rebecca,” from the wall, took down the
Sunday gown and shawl, she wrapped
them round her freezing form, and
blushed, to keep her visage warm.
The paper curtains, loosely hung upon
the windows, rustling swung, while
through each quivering, narrow frame
of frosty panes a dim light came that
made the furniture appear like dusky
phantoms crouching near. Lycurgus
listened in the storm and hugged his
brick to keep him warm, but colder
grew the humid bed, the clothes con
gealed around his head; to feel at ease in
vain tie tried; he tossed and turned from
side to side; each time he moved, be
neath his weight the bedstead creaked
like some farm-gate. His brick grew
cold, he could not sleep, a strange sen
sation seemed to creep upon him, while
across the floor he closely watched the
closet-door.
Was he but dreaming? No! his eyes
beheld, with wonder and surprise, what
man had never seen before—there was a
movement at the door. It slowly turned
and to his sight came, through the dim,
uncertain light a hideous hand, that in
its clasp some awful object seemed
I P' ns P. » crouching form, with fright
ful head, seemed slowly coming towards
the bed. He heard the rusty hinges
creak, he could not stir, he could
not speak, he could not turn his head
away; he shut his eyes and tried to
pray; upon his brow of palid hue tho
cold sweat stood like drops of dew; at
last he shrieked, aloud and shrill—the
door swung back and all was still.
That midnight cry, from room to
room, resounded loudly through the
gloom. The farmer and his wife at rest,
within their warm and cozy nest, awoke
and sprung, in strange attire, forth from
their bed loud shouting—“firei” But
nna.ng neither smoke nor name, soon
stumbling up the stairs they came. In
cotton bedquilts quaintly dressed, they
heard a deep groan from their guest, ana,
full of wonder and affright, pushed in
the door and struck a light.
Deep down within the feather bed
Lycurgus had withdrawn his head, and,
out of sight, lay quaking there, with
throbbing breast and bristling hair.
They questioned him. but he was still;
he shook as if ho had a chill, the cour
age was completely gone from tall Ly
curgus Littlejohn.
What human language can express,
the modest maiden’s dire distress, while
standing still behind the screen, a sad
spectator of the scene ? What pen or
pencil can portray her mute despair and
deep dismay ? A while she stood, and
through tho door she peeped across the
bed room floor; the way was clear,
and like a vise she grasped the sausage,
cold as ice, sprang from the closet, and
from sight she glided like agl earn of
light, away without a look or word, she
flew like an affrighted bird; without a
moment of delay, the mystery cleared
itself away! i
Again the snow gleams on the ground,
again the sleigh-bells gayly sound, again
on “Miller’s Hill” wo hear the shouts of
children loud and clear; but in the barn
is heard no more the flapping flail upon
the floor. The house is down, its in
mates gone, and tall Lycurgus Little
john is now an old man. worn with cure,
with stooping form and silver hair. Ho
married dark-eyed Susan Stow, and they
were happy, years ago.
When, in tho merry winter-time, their
children's children round him climb, he
tells them of his fearful fright, on that
far distant winter night: and. after the.v
are put to bed, when by the fire with
nodding head lie sits and sinks to slum
bers deep, and quakes and shivers in his
sleep, alas! ho is but, dreaming still ol
that spare bed on “Miller's Hill.”—
Hvjjrpe J. Hall, in Chicago Tribune.
White Rorse Shares.
A Now Yorker was seated in an office
n Gunnison City, Col., one day, when
i grizzly looking old chap entered and
inked if that was the place where they
sold shares of the White Horse Silver
Mine. Being assured he was in tho of
ilco of the company he observed:
“I have heard tho White Horo spoken
as as being a likely mine.”
“It certainly is. We took SIO,OOO
worth of ore out in one day.”
“Phew! She must be just old richness!
How many men have ye got to work."
“Oh, about three hundred.”
“Have ye, though? Are the sheers go
ing off party lively?”
“Shares are selling like hot cakes, and
we have only a few left. Everybody
lays tho White Horse is a big invest
meKt.”
“What are sheers worth to-day ?”
“1 will sell you at ninety-five, though
1 know they will be worth face value to
morrow.”
“No ! You don’t really mean ninety
five?”
“1 do.”
“Well, that’s bettor; there's a hundred
sheers which you sold my pard yester
day for twenty dollars. 1 went over t<
the mine, found nothing but a hole mid
a dead mule, and [told him I’d conn iq
and get his money back, or do souk
shooting! I’m tnrnal glad to find tlien
sheers has riz from twenty to ninety fbi .
That will give my pard his money buck
and buy me a winter outfit b sid<s
Here’s the sheers, and now h t me si -
the color of your money!”
“But, sir, we—”
“Passout the cash!” said the ohl man,
is he rested the end of his shooter on
the edge of the counter.
The company had left his revolver in
his overcoat outside, and he didn't be
lieve the New Yorker would shoot fm
him. After a look around, he began
counting out the money with a bland
imile, and as he made the exchange he
said:
“Certainly, sir—greatest of pleasure,
lir. Sorry you didn't hold them one
day more, and get the full face value!’
Lilies.
Everybody is delighted with the fra
grance and delicacy of the white water
lily, and we buy them at the railroad
stations in summer as good genii, which
will dispel largely the lassitude, the de
pression and disgust of a hot day’s ride
in the sultry and cindery cars. Very few
but have, at one time or another, wished
that they might be able to propagate so
sweet a flower. The following mode has
proved successful: The roots, procured
tn the fall, are kept damp during the en
suing winter in flower-pots. In the
spring a half-barrel, with the hoops well
secured, is procured; if painted, so
much the better, and set on bricks in the
garden, and one-third filled with a mixt
ure of garden earth, sand, and well
rotted manure. The roots are set in this
and covered. Water is added gently,
and a little at a time, every day or two
(so as not to disturb the earth) till the
tub js filled, In the fall the water is al
lowed to dry off, and the tub is placed in
the cellar and watered at long intervals.
NEWS GLEANINGS.
There arc more than 200,000 Germans
in Texas.
Col. Fred Grant is to reside at Hous
ton, Tex., it is said.
In Lafourche, parish, La., there are
318 citizens named Williams.
The frontier battalion of Texas now
consists of five companies numbering
120 officers and men.
The Louisiana Sugar Bowl does not
hope for a large crop this year, for it is
at least a month late.
The Austin (Tex.) Statesman says
that the increase of the sheep flocks
about Uvalde this year averages ninety
per cent., the largest known for a long
time.
The Charlotte Observer reports the
purchase of land near that city for the
purpose of smelting works. Ores will be
purchased from the owner of mines and
smelted and refined at the works.
Chattanooga Times: A terrible dis
ease prevails among the cattle in the
Seventeenth district of Bartow county,
Ga. It proves fatal in nine out of ten
cases. Not less than twenty milch cows
have died within a mile of Euharlee in
the past ten days.
Mobile (Ala.) Register: The resigna
tion of Dr. Stuart Robinson retires from
active service in the Presbyterian church,
one of the ablest divines in the country.
Many of our readers will remember hear
ing Dr. Robinson preach when the Gen
eral Assembly of the Presbyterian church
South met here a few years after the
war.
Austin (Tex.) Statesman : Galveston
having deprived herself of her natural
barrier against the encroachments of the
gulf waves by removing the sand hills
that had formed along the beach, is re
placing them, or aiding nature to do so
by planting hedges of salt cedars, against
which the sands drift and form natural
levees or break-waters.
The South Florida Journal states that
Dr. A. C, Caldwell, of Sanford, has an
orange tree that is a curiiLTj wottlr
ing to see. It is a large, fine tree, stand
ing just at his front gate. It has a good
ly number of ripe oranges on it, and
about 1,000 green ones half grown, the
tree having blossomed after the storm of
last August, and is now full of blooms
for another crop.
The Pulaski (Tenn.) Citizen says that
Dr. Leftwich, assisted by the Christians
J 1
of Pulaski, held a prayer meeting in the |
court-house in that town before a very ,
large audience of country people, and i
the editor states that it was one of the '
most serious and effective meetings he
ever witnessed. Two neighbors, come
to town to law each other, stepped into j
the room where the meeting was being
held, and they soon had each other by (
the hand and differences were forgotten
in embraces.
The Macon (Ga.) Telegraph rays tha
on Friday last Mr. W. 11. Turner, a
brother-in-law of Mr. Nelms, went down
to Butler to get ’Squire Bryant, a negro,
under sentence of ten years in the peni
tentiary. ’Squire saw that he wai in for
a decade of labor, and, rather than en
dure it, he took a pocket-knife and cut
out both his eyes. He afterward claimed
that the deed was done by his having
run against some splinters in a wall, but
marks of blood upon his knife and other
circumstances disprove this, and prove
the first statement. Mr. Turner returned
without his man.
New Orleans States: Telephonic com
munication has already been established
between Vicksburg and Jackson, Miss.,
and verbal messages are sent over this
wire daily. Yesterday the exchange in
this city placed the telephonic attach
ments to a Western Union wire and
yelled 1 ‘Helion” at Vicksburg. The lat
ter answered back, “What do you
want?” just as natural as you please.
This interchange of salutations placed
the two cities on speaking terms, as it
were, and business began at once. Every
tiedy who had anything to say said it,
and those who had nothing to say said
it just to he sociable. Mr. G. W. Irby,
of Vicksburg, sent an older to Justin
Langles for several boxes of ginger-snaps
and crackers. The experimental con
nection was a decided success.
It costs but little to make a child glad ;
it costs but little to secure the grateful
remembrance of a child; but if it cost a
hundred-fold more than ii does, it would
be a profitable investment. It pays well
to have a monument erected to ourselves
in a child's memory and affections. And
this we may have by a little thoughtful
ness and attention.
PuiIJSHKD EVKBT THUMBAT XTt
BELLTON, GEORGIA/
SATES OF ZUBBOEIPTIOJT.
Ous year (52 number*), 11.00; ifx aoatha
numbers). 50 cents; three meaths (><
numbers), 25 cents.
Ofliceinthe Carter buittin;, wnt o’ th
depot.
M). 17.
USEFUL HINTS.
To take fresh paint off a woolen gar
ment rub tho spots with stale bread un
til removed.
Lemons can be kept sweet and fresh
for months by putting them in a clean,
tight cask or jar, and cover with cold
water. The water must be changed as
often us once every other day, and tho
cask kept in a cool place.
To Destroy Ants.—Take carbolio
acid diluted with water—take one part
acid to ten parts water—and with a
syringe throw this liquid into all the
cracks and holes where they nest, and
ants will soon vanish. Cockroaches are
also driven away by it.
When sewing buttons on children’s
clothes where there will be much strain
on the button, the danger from tearing
the cloth out will be greatly lessened by
putting a small button directly under
the larger outside button. TJiis applies
of course, only to buttons with holes
through them.
An exchange says : “For worms and
flies infesting house plants, several read
ers recommend watering them with lime
water. Close the opening nt the bottom
of the pot, fill with lime water and let it
stand for an hour or two, then remove
the plug at the bottom and drain it off.
If one application is insufficient, try a
second. ”
To give a beautiful gloss to shirt
bosoms, procure two ounces of fine
white gum arabic and pound it to pow
der, put it into a pitcher and pour on to
it a pint or more of boiling water, ac
cording to the degree of strength you
desire, and then, having covered it,' let
it set all night. In the morning pour it
carefully from the dregs into a clean
bottle, cork it, mid keep it for further
use. A tabic-spoonful of gum-water
stirred into u pint of starch that has
been made in the usual manner will give
a beautiful gloss to shirt-bosoms, and to
lawns (either white or printed) a look of
newness to which nothing else can
restore them after washing. It is also
good for thin white muslin and all kinds
of laces.
To Clean Mirrors.—Take a news
paper or part of one, according to the
size of the glass. Fold it small and dip
it into a basin of clean cold water ; when
thoroughly wet squeeze it out in your
hand as you would a sponge, and then
rub it hard all over the face of tho glass,
taking care that it is not so wet ns to
run down in streams. In fact, the paper
must only be completely moistened or
damped all through. After the glass
has been well rubbed with wet paper,
let it rest for a few minutes, and then
ever it with a fresh dry newspaper
(folded small in your hand) till it looks
clear and bright, which it will almost
immediately and with no further trouble.
This method, simple as it is, is the
best and most expeditious for cleaning
mirrors, and it will be found so on trial
—giving a cleanness and polish that
can be produced by no other process.
I'lie Homes or America.
It is not a mere accident that the
homes of America are the most comfort
able and comforting on earth. Nor are
these home comforts due simply to me
chanical skill or economic judgment, z.
country which has limited tho powers of
its government stimulates society, and
highly moral society produces the most
perfect homes which human eyes or
poetic visions can behold. No one knows
the American system well who does not
know the American home. Our political
system is publicity itself; American so
ciety has never yet been fully charac
terized; while the best result of both, the
perfect home, has been praised in gen
eral terms, but not described and ex
plained in its true fullness. The novel
writers, from whom such descriptions
might bo expected, have failed ignomin
iously in their attempts at showing tl».
maturest results of our social system.
Yet this system is unique, and it is a
marked advance upon all European
models. The English home approaches
the American home, while the German
home approaches the English; but the
ideal American home, not rarely realized,
has a comfort, a character and a dignity
all its own. It may seem to be wanting
in the graces, traditions and responsi
bilities peculiar to the best English
homes; it surpasses them in moral dig
nity; it differs from all the others in be
ing tho result of a highly-refined civiliza
tion; it is the best and purest outcome of
our ethical system. There has been
much pleasant banter about the great
American novel that is to come. Let it
not dwell too much on politics; British
politics are larger than ours. Let it not
tell too much of busy people; the French
are as industrious and industrial os we
are. Let it not confine itself to analysis
of character or sentiment; other nations
have both in abundance. Let it describe
tho purest and sweetest of American
homes and let it describe, not an ideal,
but that reality which distinguishes the
American home from all others, and
shows it to be the best outcome of our
history, our political institution and our
locial system.— llonio'i Advertiser.
Vanity of Highwaymen. —A Galvea
voston lady was reading a newspaper ac
count of a stage robbery that recently
took place west of San Antonio and was
very indignant on reading that besides
robbing tho passengers they had opened
the mail and read the letters, among
them, possibly, a letter the lady herself
had written to a friend. “You needn’t
be alarmed,” remarked the lady’s hus
band "I dare say they did not read a
word in any of those letters, as those fel
lows don’t know B. from bull's foot.”
“Why, then, did they make out that
they read them ?” “Oh, they made out
they could read so as to make a favorable
impression on the passengers.”—Gal
veston News.